


Six

by unfancyandy



Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: Child Abuse, Childhood Friends, Eliott POV, Flashbacks, Heavy Angst, Investigations, Kidnapping, M/M, Thirteen AU, Yann Pov, lucas pov
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2020-04-24 11:34:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19172455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unfancyandy/pseuds/unfancyandy
Summary: Lucas POV





	1. Prologue

 

 

He lied on his side, his legs pulled up close so that his knees were near his chest. He rubbed the nail of his thumb against the callus that had formed on the inside of his pointer finger. It was starting to get cold.

 

He knew he should pick up his pants from the floor and pull them on. The sheets and thin blanket he was allowed weren’t often enough to keep him from shivering. But he was just so tired. He wanted a warm bath, but he did not want to be bathed.

 

The hairs stood up on his legs and a chill went up his spine, the tense muscles there spasming briefly. He closed his eyes.

 

One summer, years ago, he had a piano lesson at the neighbor’s house. She was an old lady who hated the cold. He could remember sweat falling down the bridge of his nose, his fingers slipping on the white keys as she pulled her sweater tighter around herself. He tried to picture it, the sticky heat, the way his thighs stuck to the piano bench, the uncomfortable tickle of sweat rolling down his neck and sealing his shirt to his back.

 

He shivered.

 

He pushed himself out of bed, finding the strength to bend down and pick up his pants. He shook them against his legs. That’s when he heard it.

  
The door quietly separated from the jam, a pale strip of light revealing it to be open. Could it be open? He shuffled forward, his fingertips gripping the edge of the door, prying it further away from wall.

 

His heart began to race, an uneasy swirl rounding in his stomach. He pulled the pants on quietly, buttoning them and ignoring the zip, scared it might make a sound too loud. He didn’t know if _he_ was in the house. He didn’t want to be heard. He held his hand over his mouth, trying to muffle the sound of his breath. 

 

The door opened just wide enough that he could slip his small frame through the space. He didn’t bother trying to pull the door shut. Too afraid of the noise.

 

The steps from the cellar were made of stone. They were cold and rough against his bare feet, but he was thankful. Had they been made of wood, the ascent would have been all the more terrifying, a constant worry that a step would creak and that he would be heard. That he would be shoved back in that room, shoved back on that bed, tied down, like the very first day. He stared at the grime caked beneath his toenails that had grown long and jagged.

 

At the top of the stairs, a hallway led to the front door. Through its window he thought he could see sky, a pale blue sky. He walked carefully down the hallway, stopping five feet from the door. Two rooms sat on either side. _He_ could be in either of them.

 

If _he_ saw him trying to leave, there was no way he was getting out. The door had never been left unlocked before today. If he were caught, it would be back to the cellar. Back to the room. Back to the bed.

 

He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, feel it in his throat. He could peek around either wall and try to see if _he_ was there. Or he could just run. Could he run? He didn’t know the last time he did. Did just a few paces count? The last time he truly ran, he was running with his friends after school. Where were they going? Who was he running with? It was hard to remember their faces now. Details had escaped him while he lived below ground, in the dark and the cold.

 

He could feel the window of opportunity shrinking. He had to move. Now.

 

He took one step forward, and then he was running, his body crashing into the door, his hands fumbling to swing it open.

 

He was outside.

 

He was outside. He couldn’t stop. He took the steps down to the street, two at a time, nearly tripping. Houses lined the block, all looking the same to him. In a quick decision, he turned left, his feet hitting the pavement. He was moving faster. He couldn’t look back. He thought about the green door he was leaving behind, hoping _he_ wasn’t chasing after him.

 

He was panting. His legs burning. His lungs burning. His cheeks burning.

 

He cut through an alley between two houses that opened up to a busy street. People strode past him quickly, looking at him with confusion. His eyes stung. He finally stopped running, just walking along the storefronts, trying to figure out where he was. He didn’t even know if he was in Paris.

 

“Young man,” someone called out.

 

Was that him? Was he the young man? His mother used to call him that sometimes when he made her especially proud. _My young man_ , she would smile.

 

He turned around. A police officer was striding over to him, his pointed hat hugging his skull. His dark skin smooth and highlighting the bone structure of his face. “You’re wearing no shoes, son,” he told him. He looked him up and down, taking in his clothes and staring at his hair. “Are you alright, son?” He asked hesitantly, like he already knew the answer as he asked the question.

 

“I-“ his voice cracked, “I need help.” His chest was heaving. He tried to catch his breath.

 

“Do you have some ID?” the officer asked.

 

“Lucas Lallemant.” He breathed. “I’m Lucas Lallemant. I was taken when I was eleven years old. I’ve just escaped.”

 

Lucas cried quietly, his voice a pained whisper, “Please help me.”

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Lucas Lallemant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucas POV

 

 

Lucas had never ridden in the back of a police car before. He didn’t like the distance of the backseat separating him from the officer. “Can I roll the window down, please?” he asked.

 

“Those back ones don’t roll down, I’m afraid. I can roll down this one here, though,” he replied, pointing to the passenger side window as he drove.

 

“It’s okay,” Lucas shook his head minutely. He gripped the seatbelt and pressed his balled fist against his sternum. He focused on the orange leaves of the trees lining the street.

 

Static from the walkie in the car made Lucas shift in his seat. Another man’s voice poured through the speaker, “Can we get a description?”

 

The officer spoke, “White male, brown hair, blue eyes. _Very_ pale. About 170 cm. Still claiming to be missing person Lucas Lallemant.”

 

 _I am Lucas Lallemant_ , Lucas thought looking down at his grimy fingers.

 

“How old are you, son?”

 

Lucas shook his head, “I don’t know. I’m not sure.”

 

The officer made eye contact with him in the rearview mirror, obviously bewildered by his answer. Truthfully, Lucas didn’t know. He wasn’t sure. He had no calendar. He’d felt the winters pass, but he wasn’t sure if there had been five or six of them.

 

Time moved differently in a dark cellar.

 

Some of the food he’d been given had wrappers with expiration dates printed on them, but he had no way of knowing how long it would take some of those foods to expire. If he had to guess, he’d say sixteen.

 

“I think maybe sixteen. Or seventeen?” he answered.

 

The officer waited, like he need more. He seemed patient, but like he wasn’t allowed to give Lucas any clues.

 

“I was born 19 October 2002.”

 

The officer went back on the walkie: “Date of birth, 19 – 10 – 02.” He looked to Lucas through the mirror, “It was your birthday four days ago. You’re eighteen.”

 

 

 

A small woman with a very pregnant belly opened the door of the car when they arrived curbside of a very municipal looking building. Lucas stepped out carefully.

 

“Hello, Lucas,” she smiled. She hugged a leather folder to her chest. “My name is Claudette. I’m going to be your family liason officer.” She paused, “How does that sound?”

 

Lucas shrugged. She took in his clothing. Lucas felt horribly out of place. These clothes were old. Not only had they not been washed in a while, his clothes looked nothing like the clothes he saw people walking around in while driving. Nothing was fitted. The cloth hung around his body, barely clinging on.

 

“Let’s get you changed out of that and find you some shoes, huh?”

 

Lucas nodded, “Thank you.”

 

Inside, Claudette lead him through several doors until he entered a brightly lit room. He looked around himself the entire time, trying to spot his parents, but he couldn’t find them. Claudette closed the door behind them and Lucas couldn’t help looking over his shoulder and wishing the door was open. Another woman in a white coat greeted him after remove a thick pair of purple gloves. 

 

“This is Dr. Durand,” Claudette explained, “She’s going to give you new, clean clothes, Lucas, but first, you need an exam.”

 

“An exam?” Lucas was confused.

 

“Dr. Durand is certified to conduct a sexual assault examination.”

 

Lucas felt weak. “I don’t understand.”

 

Dr. Durand spoke clearly, “We need to collect evidence to help us find out who took you and what they did to you. The goal here is to provide safety. The priority is your wellbeing. We will take some of your DNA and run some tests that will let us know the state of your health.”

 

“How,” Lucas’ voice cracked, “How does it work?”

 

“You’ll need to take off your clothes. We’ll take a cheek swab, some hair, a fingernail clipping, and I’ll need to examine your pelvic region assess the extent of possible sexual abuse as well as your current sexual health.”

 

“I don’t think I want to do this,” Lucas shook his head. “I want to see my parents. I want a bath.” He turned to Claudette, “Please. Can’t I just go home and take a bath?”

 

“I’m sorry, Lucas. The protocol is necessary for your own safety. We need to minimize the contact you have with others until we’ve collected every piece of physical evidence we can from your current state. Without this, it makes it more difficult to catch whoever is responsible for what has happened to you and prolongs the time it will take to get you back with your family. Do you understand?”

 

Lucas nodded, “Will you be here, too?”

 

“No,” Claudette told him, “I’ll be right outside the door. You just call my name if you need me, okay?”

 

Lucas willed his eyes to keep from tearing up. He wanted to hide away, not strip naked and be touched and prodded. But more importantly, he wanted to go home. “Okay,” he consented.

 

Dr. Durand seemed nice enough. She pulled a couple of latex gloves from a box and turned to face Lucas, “I’m going to tell you everything I’m going to do before I do it,” she explained. “First,” she picked up a very long Q-tip, “I’m going to take a swab of your cheek. I need you to open your mouth for me, please.”

 

Lucas obeyed, letting his jaw drop open. She stuck the swab inside and swiped at the inside of his cheek a few times. It was dropped in a clear bag and sealed shut.

 

“We’re going to take a bit of hair, too, and a finger nail clipping.”

 

Lucas watched as she picked up a piece of hair from his shoulder and snipped off just a bit of it with very small scissors. The strand also got its own bag. He hadn’t really realized how long his hair was now. It had been a while since _he_ had cut it. Judging by the length, probably the longest stint without a haircut he’d ever had.

 

“Okay, either hand, you choose huh,” she offered.

 

Lucas held out his right hand and watched as she clipped off a moon shaped piece of his thumbnail. He wanted them all clipped, but he was too nervous to ask her.

 

“Alright, Lucas. How about we get you out of those clothes?” she smiled kindly. It didn’t really put Lucas at ease.

 

“I don’t have any other clothes,” Lucas replied quietly.

 

“Don’t worry, we’ll get you in some clean scrubs in no time.”

 

“Okay,” Lucas nodded. He looked around the room, trying to delay the inevitable. “Are you going to watch me?”

 

“Yes, I’m afraid I will. If I notice anything unusual like scars or bruising, I’m supposed to document it.”

“Document it?” Lucas asked, his hands sweating.

 

“Either a photograph or written description. Photographs will be quicker if you consent to that option now.”

 

Once again Lucas felt without a choice, but he wanted this over with. He wanted to go home. “Yes,” he said meekly.

 

“We’ll put all of your clothes in this bag. There’s some scrubs on the bench behind you,” she gestured.

 

Lucas took in a big breath and then began working with the buttons of his shirt. By the time he slipped it off his shoulders, he immediately wanted to put it back on.

 

“Oh dear,” she commented, her eyes now unable to return to his. “Are you in any immediate pain right now, darling?”

 

He shook his head.

 

She took a picture of the marks on his body, asking him to lift his arms in some cases. “Okay, the pants now, too, dear.”

 

Lucas pulled down his pants and let them pool around his ankles. This time he couldn’t look her in the eye as she took pictures of the skin around his hips and thighs, documenting every shade of bruise. He was sure a whole palette existed in that camera now, blues and purples and yellows and greens all splashed against his pale canvas of skin.

 

He didn’t wait for her to ask, just asked himself, “Underwear, too?”

 

She nodded.

 

He pulled them down, letting them fall in the pants on the floor. He couldn’t resist the urge to cover himself. It felt foreign to not be yelled at for it.

 

“If you’ll turn around please?” she asked. Lucas did. “And just bend over slightly,” she added quietly. He bent over and heard the click of the camera.

 

“Are you experiencing and itching, burning, or discomfort in or around your genitals?” she asked.

 

Lucas turned around as he answered, “No.”

 

She took note of it on her clipboard.

 

“And your rectum or anus, any itching, burning, or discomfort?”

 

“No,” Lucas promised, “Can I put clothes on now?”

 

“Go ahead,” she nodded.

Lucas pulled on the pants quickly and listened to Dr. Durand rummage around with something on the counter. “Have you ever had blood drawn before, Lucas?”

 

He shook his head and pulled on the shirt.

 

“We’re going to do that today. That way we can do some tests and see if you might have any diseases we can’t detect from physical appearance alone. Hop up on that bench there, please.”

 

“Will it hurt?” Lucas asked, watching her set the needle on the sanitary tray and move his arm into position.

 

“Less than a bee sting,” she promised.

 

Lucas had never been stung by a bee.

 

He didn’t bother to tell her that. He winced as he watched the needle pierce his skin. We he saw the blood drawn up into the syringe, he had to look away. She removed the needle and immediately put a cotton swab on the tiny wound. She wrapped it in a stretchy tape gauze that was the brightest color pink Lucas had ever seen.

 

Despite the new and sanitary clothes, Lucas was still overwhelmed with just how filthy he felt. “Do I get to go home soon?” he asked Dr. Durand, but the look on her face told him she either didn’t know or she did and he wouldn’t enjoy her answer.

 

“I’ll hand you back over to Claudette and she’ll help you sort things out, okay, dear?” she smiled sadly. “You’ll hear back about your blood test in a couple of days.”

 

Outside the door, Claudette lead him through another series of doorways until she finally stopped in a hallway and turned around. She gestured inside. Lucas noted the cream-colored couch with a light pink rose pattern strewn all over the fabric. Above, on the wall behind it, was a painting of a lush green tropical forest. Across from the couch was a small table with a tea set on it and two chairs with the same upholstery as the couch he was offered to sit on.

 

As he sat down carefully, Claudette shut the door behind her, shutting him in a once again windowless room. He tried to hide the fear in his voice when he quickly asked her, “Can you leave it open, please?”

 

She reached for the door and reopened it, but let him know that once the detectives arrived, they would need to shut the door. “For privacy,” she added.

 

“When will my parents come to get me?” Lucas asked as Claudette sat across from him.

 

She readjusted herself on the chair, one hand instinctively holding her bump, and crossed her legs, “We don’t have a set timeline for that unfortunately. What happens next is you’ll be interviewed by some detectives to confirm your identity and learn about your captor. Once that’s taken care of, you’ll be able to see your parents again.”

 

“Confirm my identity?” Lucas asked. _I am Lucas Lallemant_ , he thought for not the first time that day.

 

Claudette nodded, “It’s part of the procedure.”

 

An undetermined number of minutes, filled entirely with silence, later, two people in suits walked in, a man and a woman, both blonde and both carrying notepads with a pen and a mug. Claudette excused herself and Lucas couldn’t help but tense to be left alone again once the door was shut.

 

The man set out a device on the table he had pulled from his pocket. Lucas didn’t recognize it.

 

“Don’t worry, it’s just to record our conversation,” he assured Lucas.

 

The woman pointed to small cameras hanging in the corners of the room, “These cameras will do the same. We call this an ABE interview.” She smiled weakly at him, “We’re here to help you.”

 

“I want to see my parents,” Lucas told them, his fingers fidgeting.

 

The man smiled at him, “Of course you do. Let’s just get this taken care of and we’ll sort that out, yeah?”

 

Lucas tried to look him in the eye as he nodded. He was unsuccessful.

 

The woman pressed a button on the recording device and a tiny bulb on it turned red. They introduced themselves for the recording, “Detective Agnes and Detective Pierre.” Agnes went on, “We’re here to conduct an interview with a young man who alleges to be Lucas Lallemant. State your name please,” she said, looking to Lucas.

 

“Alleges?” Lucas asked.

 

“We need to confirm you are who you say you are, I’m afraid. State your name please.”

 

“Lucas Lallemant,” Lucas answered.

 

“Date of birth?” she asked.

 

“19 October 2002.”

 

“Date of capture?”

 

Lucas thought hard. He couldn’t remember the exact day, but the school year had just started. “Sometime early in the school year,” he answered.

 

“Let’s not get bogged down with dates, huh? I can hardly remember anything by date,” Pierre admitted.

 

“What is the name of your captor?” Agnes continued.

 

“Léon,” Lucas spoke quietly.

 

“Surname?” Agnes prodded.

 

He shook his head. He didn’t know.

 

Agnes replied, “Where were you held?”

 

“A house.”

 

Agnes didn’t miss a beat, “What kind of house?”

 

Lucas watched Pierre tap her knee with his knuckles before asking him, “What kind of house? How many rooms?”

 

There was an upstairs in Léon’s house, but almost all of his time had been spent underground. “I only saw one,” he answered.

 

“Which one?” Agnes asked.

 

“The cellar,” Lucas told her.

 

“And how were you kept there?”

 

“The door locked from the outside. Sometimes when I was bad, I was tied down, too.”

 

“How did you escape then?”

 

“He forgot to lock up.”

 

Agnes wrote down a note in her notebook.

 

Pierre sipped from his mug, “What does Léon look like, Lucas?”

 

Lucas thought of his face, and his skin scrawled. He thought of his hands, and sweat formed at his neck. He thought of his mouth, and his throat closed.

 

“What sort of build? Is he taller than you?”

 

Lucas nodded.

 

“Much taller?”

 

He shrugged.

 

Realizing they were not getting much out of him anymore, Pierre suggested a short break.

 

Lucas took in a breath, “I am Lucas Lallemant. You believe me, right?” he looked to the both of them.

 

Neither answered before there was a knock at the door. Agnes announced the pause in interview and the two of them left him alone for the first time since he escaped, shutting the door behind him.

 

Lucas crawled up on the couch, lying on his side and pulling his knees to his chest. He stared at the door.

 

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that, but eventually Pierre and Agnes returned. They told him his parents were here and if Lucas was ready they would take him to them.

 

Of course Lucas was ready. He wanted desperately to go home.

 

It was Pierre and Agnes who lead Lucas through a series of doorways this time, until they rounded a corner and through two large windows of glass, he spotted Claudette standing with his mother and his father.

 

His father saw him first through the glass. Lucas walked quickly through the two doors, and once on the other side, he was in his father’s arms, wrapped up and held close against his chest. He could feel his father crying, hear it in his voice as he petted his hair and kissed his head and told him it was okay and that he was safe now. Lucas could hardly breathe but he didn’t want to move away from his father.

 

Eventually he did pull away and behind him stood his mother. Her face looked tired and her hair had some gray in it now. Some wrinkles had formed at the corners of her eyes. She was shorter than Lucas was even though his father still towered above him. But most concerning to Lucas was the look on his mother’s face, wholly unreadable, absent entirely of recognition.

 

“Marie,” his father spoke to her, “Marie, it’s our boy.”

 

“Mama?” Lucas took a step toward her, holding out one hand.

 

His mother wrapped her sweater around herself tighter, gripping her crucifix in her unsteady hand. She shook her head, “My son is dead.”

 

 


	3. On the existence of Eliott Demaury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliott POV

 

 

 

 

_October 2020_

 

When Lucas disappeared, it felt like everyone who had been close to him had fallen apart. Eliott was no exception. Less than one month after his disappearance, when hopes of finding Lucas were falling lower and lower, Eliott experienced his first manic episode. A prank call had been made to the police from a group of boys with one of them pretending to be Lucas as a dare. It nearly killed him to get his hopes up so high just for them to come crashing back down. Just as quickly as the guilt had lessened with the chance of Lucas being found, it returned five-fold and never really left. When he was barely fourteen, he didn’t want to exist anymore, and he had somehow found it in himself to tell his mom that. He found himself talking with a therapist regularly. Gradually he learned to let go of Lucas while still remembering him. Even now, he wasn’t so sure he had figured that out completely.

 

Around what would have been Lucas’ sixteenth birthday, Eliott had run into Lucas’ mom when she visited the bookstore he worked at part-time. He hadn’t seen her in years. He didn’t know if it was because she was avoiding him or he was avoiding her, but despite living less than six blocks apart, they hadn’t crossed paths since the first Christmas without Lucas.

 

Eliott had tensed up when she looked right at him. She must not have recognized him. He was eighteen, in his last year of high school, and several centimeters taller than the last time she had seen him. Had he really changed that much? Or did she know exactly who he was and chose to treat him like a stranger. He silently hoped for the former as she wandered the fiction section, but within just a few minutes, Eliott spotted her in “Personal Help.” He had only been working there for a couple of months by then, but he was horribly convinced she was staring at the titles of the “On Death and Dying” shelf. His insides had twisted into knots.

 

She picked up a book from the shelf, avoided the other aisles and laid it on the counter for Eliott to ring up, not looking at him, her eyes bouncing among the various books and trinkets on the counter. He couldn’t tell if she was avoiding him because he was Eliott or because she didn’t want to make small talk about the purchase she was about to make. Eliott’s eyes stung as he read the title, _I Wasn’t Ready To Say Goodbye_.

 

Eliott wished he didn’t exist.

 

Lucas’ mom told Eliott to keep the change when she paid for the book, looking him straight in the eye as she slowly dragged it off the glass top counter. Any confusion Eliott had before was gone, terrible shame in its place. She held the book close to her body and walked out of the store leaving Eliott an anxious mess.

 

He left work that night crying quietly to himself, feeling his phone buzz in his pocket and specifically ignoring it. He headed to the park, found his place beneath the bridge, and let himself crawl up into a ball. He never went home that night. He stayed there until morning, missing school the next day. When he finally picked himself up off the ground and walked home, he forgot that maybe his parents would be concerned about his whereabouts, that maybe they wouldn’t have gone to work that day and instead would be looking for their missing son. Or maybe he didn’t forget and just didn’t want to think about it.

 

His parents met him first with wrath, and then with discipline, but eventually empathy. After a hot shower, Eliott tucked himself into his bed. His mother sat on the edge, running her fingers through his wet hair and rubbing the tears off his cheek gently with her knuckles. She shushed him every time he cried that it was his fault. In the kitchen, his father was making an appointment for Eliott to resume therapy. And despite their collective best efforts, a couple months later on Christmas Eve, Eliott reached the climax of his biggest episode yet, and subsequently crashed back down to Earth. He didn’t begin to recover both physically and emotionally until that spring, and by then, it was too late – he would have to repeat his last year of high school.

 

But Eliott found his footing again in that repeat year. He didn’t have Sofiane and Idriss with him in school anymore, but he did find friendship in Arthur and Basile. They worked after school with him at a movie theater nearby. Eliott had been fired from the bookstore on account of “I’m sorry you’re depressed, but I need to pay someone who can actually work.” Well, that wasn’t the _exact_ reason he was given, but he had understood the sentiment. Nevertheless, he liked the movie theater. He liked working with Arthur and Basile. They hadn’t known Lucas and Eliott never told them about his friend who had gone missing when they were kids.

 

In most of his friendships and relationships, it had usually caused some distance to form between them, like what happened with him and Yann. They didn’t talk anymore, at all, despite going to the same school. But Eliott didn’t really talk at school, and Yann had gotten himself a girlfriend. So, with Arthur and Basile, Eliott felt normal, or as normal as he could feel. After hearing the two of them talking about Basile’s mom when sweeping up an empty theater one night, he even opened up enough to tell them about his bipolar. Instead of being filled with dread, he was pleasantly surprised by how nice it felt to share a piece of himself.

 

After Eliott graduated, he decided to take a gap year and live at home to save money. He had taken a job with the public library, just a Saturday shift when he was in his last year that turned into nearly full-time once he finished school. He still worked a few shifts at the theater. He liked discounted movies, and he liked Arthur and Basile.

 

Life was going well for Eliott. He was working, making friends, staying out of trouble – for the most part. On a Saturday morning of November of 2019, he met Lucille. She was in her first year of university and was trying to graduate early, taking so many classes at once Eliott didn’t know how she did it. She had been coming to the library for a while, mostly checking out books on history and government. She was there every Saturday, quiet and under the radar, but too beautiful not to be noticed. She reminded him of the cat that used to wander in the bookstore when the door was left open. Eventually, he would admit that to her and she would look at him funny, laugh, and then meow at him until he felt silly enough for even making the comparison.  

 

One day, on one of the days in between Christmas and New Years, she handed over just one book, _Thérèse Raquin_. On the inside cover, just across from the barcode Eliott needed to scan was a sticky note with her number and an offer for dinner the following night. Eliott had smiled, peeled off the note, and kept it in his pocket the rest of his shift. They went out a few times, kissed at New Years, and found they really enjoyed each other’s company, in and out of the bedroom. Within a few weeks, they were in a relationship and Eliott thought he was happy.

 

Eliott thought he was happy.

 

 

 

Then one day, while leaning on the concessions counter at the movie theater and scrolling through his phone, he got a call from Imane. Eliott had never spoken with Imane over the phone and he wasn’t even sure how it was that they had each other’s numbers. They hadn’t even talked in person since before Eliott finished school. He had half a mind to let it go to voicemail, an unexplained anxiety prickling at his neck, but there wasn’t another movie showtime scheduled to start for an hour, so it was basically dead in the concessions lobby.

 

He answered the phone.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Eliott,” Imane spoke loudly, she was walking somewhere and Eliott could hear a bus honk it’s horn. “ _Putain!_ ” she yelled.

 

“What’s up?” Eliott asked. He checked the time on the wall, “Shouldn’t you still be in school?”

 

“It’s Lucas,” she told him, talking quickly, “It’s all over the news. They’re saying he’s been found. They’re saying he’s alive, Eliott. Police found him just walking on the street in Clichy. The story broke about an hour ago. I was in class, I didn’t see the notification. They’re still trying to figure out if it’s actually him. I mean, it’s been six years!”

 

Eliott was trying to process all she was saying, his heart was racing, “Lucas is alive?”

 

“God, keep up, Eliott!” she shouted, “Yes, if it’s really him, he’s alive.”

 

“Imane,” Eliott interrupted her, “Sorry, I gotta go.”

 

“What?!”

 

“I’m going to him,” Eliott explained before hanging up the phone.

 

He found the shift manager and explained he had to go, that it was “a family emergency" and he wouldn’t be coming back that day.

_September 2014_

 

Lucas’ backpack was much too big for him. Or Lucas was much too small for his backpack. Eliott couldn’t quite tell which was more true. But he did know that the backpack to body ratio made Lucas run slower and clunkier in a way that it wasn’t even fair for Eliott to race him.

 

That didn’t stop him though.

 

“Race you to the corner!” he shouted, taking off into a sprint.

 

“Wait!” he heard Lucas yelling after him, “Eliott!”

 

Eliott laughed, and easily made his way to the corner, leaving Lucas several paces behind him. Once he reached the end of the street, he leaned over to support himself on his knees and breathed deeply to catch his breath. He chuckled under his breath, “I win again!”

 

He lifted his head up, looking for Lucas, but he didn’t see him. He took a few steps forward, calling out his name, “Lucas?”

 

A few pedestrians were crossing the street, he watched as the cars drove by, looked across the street to see if Lucas had ditched him in a fit of anger; but he didn’t see Lucas anywhere. _Shit_. Their parents were going to kill him.

 

“Lucas?” Eliott called out, jogging back down the tree-lined street, his shouting got louder, “Lucas!?”

 

“Aha!” Lucas jumped out from behind one of the trees.

 

Eliott shrieked, “Lucas don’t do that!”

 

“I got you. You were so scared. You should have seen your face, ‘Lucas!’” he mocked him.

 

Eliott rolled his eyes and place his palm flat on the side of Lucas’ head, pushing his face away in annoyance. He tried to hide how truly terrified he was. “I should tell your parents. They won’t let you walk home with me anymore,” he threatened.

 

Lucas’ whole facial expression flipped, “Oh no.”

 

“Oh yes,” Eliott teased, once again with the upper-hand. He turned around, continuing on their route home.

 

Lucas jogged to catch up to him, “Eliott?”

 

“Yes Lucas?”

 

“You’re, you won’t, I mean, you’re not actually going to tell my parents are you?” the boy asked nervously.

 

Eliott considered teasing him further, but the truth was, he didn’t get that much joy from Lucas’ distress. “No, I won’t tell,” he promised.

 

Lucas looked up to him with a small smile. “Thanks,” he muttered quietly.

 

The walked a few more minutes in comfortable silence, Lucas occasionally bumping into Eliott, apologizing each time. Eliott really didn’t mind. “It’s okay,” he told him each time.

 

Then, a thought appeared in the back of Eliott’s mind and made its way to the front, settling right between his eyebrows. And then the thought became too delicious not to share. He let it form fully and then decided to breathe life into it, “Want to skip school tomorrow?”

 

“What?” Lucas asked, as if he didn’t hear Eliott right.

 

“Want to skip school tomorrow,” Eliott repeated himself.

 

“But, what about attendance?” Lucas asked. “Won’t the school call our parents?”

 

Eliott shook his head, “There’s an assembly in the morning. They won’t take role until fourth period before lunch. That gives us two and a half hours to kill. We can go to the arcade,” he grinned.

 

“I don’t know, Eliott,” Lucas trailed off.

 

“Come on, Lucas,” Eliott nudged him, “Don’t you want to hang out with me instead of some dumb assembly?”

 

Lucas bit his lip then nodded. Eliott’s stomach did a little flip.

 

“Can Yann come?” Lucas asked.

 

Eliott agreed, but then, “But isn’t he grounded right now?”

 

“Oh yeah,” Lucas remembered.

 

“So even if we sent him a message, he’s pretty much on lock down. No way his mom wouldn’t find out. And then we’d all be in trouble,” Eliott reasoned.

 

“Okay,” Lucas agreed, “Just you and me then.”

 

“Really?” Eliott couldn’t hide his happiness. He didn’t want to.

 

“Yes,” Lucas laughed. Eliott stopped walking, turned to face him at the intersection where Lucas would turn left and enter the third house on the right and Eliott would continue straight for five more blocks. “But promise me we won’t get in trouble.”

 

Eliott held up his pinky, “I promise we won’t get in trouble.”

 

Lucas hooked his smaller finger around Eliott’s. Eliott leaned forward and kissed their joined fingers, sealing the deal.

 

“Hey!” Lucas squealed, pulling his finger back.

 

“You broke the seal!” Eliott joked, trying to hide his blush.

 

“What does that mean?” Lucas asked.

 

“It means the promise won’t work now.”

 

“Really?”

 

“No,” Eliott laughed, “But if we do get in trouble, I promise to get grounded with you.”

 

Lucas shook his head, “None of your rules ever make any sense.”

 

Eliott stuck out his tongue, “At least I couldn’t fit inside my own backpack.”

 

“Fuck off!” Lucas flipped him off then quickly covered his mouth with his hand, worried someone who could get him in trouble with his parents had seen or heard him.

 

“See you here, tomorrow morning,” Eliott called after him.

 

“Bye Eliott!” Lucas called over his shoulder, not bothering to look at Eliott as he did.

 

For the next six years, every day and every night, there were two things Eliott would wish had gone differently – that Lucas would have looked at him, one last time before they parted ways, and that he would have never suggested they ditch school the morning of September 13th, 2014.

 

 

 

  _October 2020_

His mother warned Eliott that they may not let him see Lucas, that coming all the way down here might mean they would just be told to leave. Eliott didn’t care. He didn’t care at all. Even if he couldn’t see Lucas today, he would get information. He would know how he was doing. He could ask questions and they would likely be answered, there would be answers, for once.

 

But Eliott must have done something right. Or maybe it was karma. Maybe he built up enough good karma over the years that now he could finally cash it all in, in one go. Because they were going to let him see him. A kind and very pregnant woman named Claudette explained that the best way for Lucas to transition back into his life was to be reminded of his everyday life from before. The familiar was welcome during his recovery process.

 

They were sat in a waiting room, Eliott, his mom, and Claudette. He paced the room, unable to sit still on the outdated floral couch nor sustain any conversation with Claudette. He barely listened to her talking with his mother. He tried to think about what Lucas would be like, if he would even recognize him. It had been over six years. The pit in his stomach grew deeper as he realized Lucas might not recognize _him._

 

He heard the door open, and his heart was racing. He felt short of breath, his face hot as he waited for the blond man to get out of the way. And then he did. And there he was.

 

Eliott reached for him – reached for Lucas, there was no doubt in his mind or heart that this was Lucas – and threw his arms around his shoulders, pulling him close to his body, forgetting all the advice Claudette gave him about needing to give Lucas his space at first. But in the tug-of-war between his head and his heart, his heart won by a landslide. “Lucas,” he whispered, he could feel all the pent up emotions he’d been feeling since he found out Lucas was gone. They were reaching a breaking point. “Lucas,” he repeated, then kissed the side of his head, let his cheek rest against his hair. When he was young, he might be embarrassed, but all he was feeling was affection. He wanted Lucas close. He wanted all the hope and relief and love he was feeling to be felt by Lucas, too. So, it was easy when he kissed Lucas’s temple a second time. It was easy when he let his fingers tangle in his long hair, cradling him close.

 

He felt Lucas lift his hands up, felt them light on his shoulder blades. One hand gripped Eliott’s shirt, and then Eliott was being squeezed, squeezed so tight he could barely breathe. The dam broke and Eliott began to cry, big and loud cries he would normally reserve for private, not when he had an audience. But he couldn’t help it.

 

But then Lucas called his name, muffled, because his face was smushed against Eliott’s shoulder, “ _Eliott_.”

 

Even though Lucas was the one who had been taken, who had been gone for over six years, it was Eliott who felt like he was finally coming home.

 

 


	4. Spoons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucas POV

 

 

When Lucas was really little, when he was still too young for school, he used to hide from his mother in the clothing racks at the mall. It was a game of hide-and-seek that only he knew he was playing. One time he tried to play this game, his mom had wandered too far, looking for him. Lucas had grown impatient, hopping out from beneath the coats and running up to her to give her a scare. His plan didn’t work because the woman he scared wasn’t his mother. He only thought it was her from behind, but he was looking up into the eyes of a stranger. And he was suddenly very scared.

 

 

His mother didn’t recognize him now. She didn’t know him. Lucas hadn’t seen his mother’s face in over six years; he still knew it was hers, but that didn’t matter now.

 

“That’s not my son. My son is dead,” she repeated, shaking her head, refusing to look at Lucas.

 

“Your mother’s not well, Lucas,” his father told him, his hands gripping his mother’s shoulders.

 

She shrugged him off, “Let go of me!”

 

Lucas could feel the panic rise in his body. What did his father mean? “Papa?” he felt more than heard his voice crack as his throat began closing up.

 

“Lucas? Look at me, Lucas,” Claudette was in front of him, looking into his eyes, hands hovering around his face, but not touching, “Breathe, just breathe, we’re going to take you to a safe room, okay?”

 

“But my parents?” Lucas cried. He was crying, he felt the hot tears on his cheeks. Over her shoulder, he could see his mother walking away, down the hallway. He tried to call after her, but he could barely breathe.

 

He could hear Claudette call to Pierre, just barely over the sound of his panicked breath.

 

Lucas shut his eyes tight, bringing his hands up to his ears. He tried to shut out the noise. He could still hear himself crying. He was afraid to open his eyes.

 

“Lucas?” Pierre’s voice made it through to his ears. Lucas could feel a pair of hands on his arms. His voice opened up and he shouted, turning away as he did. He opened his eyes just enough to take in his surroundings. He walked straight to the wall and let himself slide down against it, pulling his knees up close to his chest and closing his eyes again.

 

He hid away inside himself.

 

He didn’t know how much time had passed, but eventually Lucas wasn’t so scared to open his eyes or uncover his ears. When he did, it was slowly. He found Pierre sitting on the floor leaning against the wall across from him. He waved at Lucas, like the sort of wave you give someone who’s across the street, not four feet away from you in the same hallway. But Lucas supposed he did feel far away. Actually, he felt very far away.

 

Lucas rubbed his eyes.

 

“How are you feeling, Lucas?” Pierre asked him calmly, kindly.

 

The question angered him. “I’m upset,” Lucas replied. “I’m very upset.”

 

Pierre nodded, “I would be, too.”

 

“You don’t know how I feel,” Lucas told him bitterly.

 

“You’re right,” Pierre replied.

 

Lucas rubbed at his face again, willing his shoulders to relax as he leaned against the wall. “What happened to my mother?”

 

Pierre studied Lucas for a few seconds before answering, “It’s been tough for her, since you were taken,” he explained. “I think it’s best I let Claudette explain everything to you. That’s what she’s here for.”

 

Lucas looked down the hallway. Claudette was nowhere in sight. “Where is she then?”

 

“She’s with your parents, briefing them on the situation and helping to get things in order so that you can go home.”

 

“Home?”

 

Pierre nodded, “Soon.”

 

“Why not now? Why can’t I go now?” Lucas asked, the desperation thick in his voice.

 

“We still need your help to catch whoever did this to you, Lucas. And, as much as I believe you, we’re still waiting on that blood test.”

 

Lucas shook his head, “I don’t know how to help you. I don’t know.”

 

“That’s alright,” Pierre assured him, “Why don’t we go sit somewhere more comfortable where we can talk?”

 

Pierre had asked him, but Lucas didn’t feel he had much choice on the matter. In fact, it became pretty clear that the better he cooperated, the sooner he could go home. He stood up carefully and held the wall behind him. He felt faint. “Can I have some water?”

 

“Of course,” Pierre promised. “We’ll get you some when we sit down, alright?”

 

“Alright,” Lucas agreed, following him down the hallway.

 

This room was different from the other. There was no couch, no paintings, no tea. Just a metal table with four metal chairs and two bottles of water. On the table sat an iPad and a sleek white pencil. Pierre pulled the recording device from his front chest pocket while Lucas sat down and drank half of one of the water bottles in one go. “Detective Pierre, interview with, “he paused, looking to Lucas. Lucas cleared his throat, “Lucas Lallemant.”

 

“Alright, Lucas,” Pierre set down the device. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I want you to try to remember everything you can about the house. Can you do that for me?” he asked.

 

“I’ll try,” Lucas agreed. Green door. Green door. Green door. It was all he could think of.

 

“Now, when you left the house, how long did it take you to get to the street where Officer Moreau found you? Did you run the whole way?” he asked.

 

Lucas nodded, “I was running, fifteen minutes I think, twenty maybe? I don’t, I’m not sure.”

 

“Okay,” Pierre clicked the iPad to life. He typed in some address in Google maps and then they were looking at a map of one area of Paris. “That’s good, Lucas.” He used his fingers to zoom in on the screen. He used the pencil to draw a big red circle around an area. Lucas was mesmerized. His father had an iPad, but he had never let Lucas play with it.

 

“That’s really good,” Pierre explained, “You’ve already narrowed it down a lot. See, only some of this is residential. You’re doing great, kid.”

 

Lucas scratched at his neck. He wasn’t used to being given so much praise and he didn’t know what to do with it.

 

“Now, what do you remember about the house?”

 

“Green door,” Lucas spoke immediately.

 

Pierre seemed surprised that Lucas already had the answer prepared, as if Lucas hadn’t spent six years in a cellar wondering what life was like outside that green door.

 

“The door was green,” Lucas. “It was a green door and there were steps leading up to it.” Lucas felt his leg fidget as he spoke, looking at the map instead of Pierre. “It was white, all the houses on the street were white.”

 

Pierre tapped his knee with two fingers, “Okay, we’ll start with that.”

 

Lucas watched as Pierre tapped around on the tablet, obviously used to using it. Soon, a street view was on the screen and Pierre was dragging the picture around with his finger, scanning the block. Pierre showed him one house, but the door was nearly black. “No, it’s a green door, very green.”

 

“Okay, we’ll keep looking,” he told him.

 

Lucas was worried they would never find it, that they would look through every residential neighborhood of Paris and never find the house.

 

But then they did. It looked exactly the same. Just how Lucas remembered. “That one,” he told Pierre.

 

“Are you sure, Lucas?” he asked. “We need you to be sure.”

 

Lucas nodded, “I’m sure. That’s where he lives. That’s where Léon lives.”

 

It happened very quickly after that. Pierre was talking on the phone and then they were leaving the room and then Claudette was there. Lucas asked to use the bathroom.

 

He washed his hands over and over, his fingers resembling prunes more than digits, but he still couldn’t get the dirt out from beneath his fingers.

 

She was walking with him down the hall. Lucas didn’t even notice it until she held it up between them. “This is for you.” She told him, “I can’t imagine it feels very normal to be wearing scrubs.”

 

Lucas took the gray sweatshirt from her. He studied the fabric. It was light and soft to the touch. “Like a present?” he asked.

 

“Sure,” she agreed, “It’s yours to keep.”

 

Lucas held the sweatshirt close. “Thank you,” he whispered. 

 

“We’ve sorted you out something to eat. Let’s go,” she led him toward a cafeteria.

 

“Where are my parents?” Lucas asked, once he was sat across from her at the table.

 

“They’ve gone to prepare home for you, set things up nice,” she explained.

 

“What’s wrong with my mom? He said I should ask you. He said you could tell me.”

 

Claudette readjusted herself on the bench seat opposite him. “It seems your mother’s mental health isn’t what it once was, Lucas. Sometimes when families experience trauma like this, people aren’t quite the same after.” Lucas didn’t understand, but he was afraid to ask more about it.

 

“When can I go home?” he chose instead.

 

“I hope soon,” she assured him. She pushed the plate forward on the table. “You should eat.”

 

“I’m fine,” Lucas swallowed. “You should eat it,” he told her, “For your baby.”

 

“It’s for you,” she smiled.

 

Lucas looked down at the sandwich on the plate. “There’s no fish,” he remarked.

 

“You want fish? We have tuna fish instead?” she offered.

 

“You should eat two portions of fish a week. It’s good for vitamin D. An oily fish would be good for your baby,” he told her.

 

“How do you know that, Lucas?” she asked him, not like she didn’t trust him, but like she wanted to know why he knew that.

 

“I read it in a book he gave me.”

 

“And,” she paused, “Did he ever give you fish?”

 

“Yes,” he answered, “Especially when I was good.” He picked up the sandwich and bit off some, chewing it slowly. He set it down as he swallowed. The sandwich was good. “The fish was the nicest,” he remembered. “It tasted of something, more than the usual.”

 

“What was the usual?”

 

“Canned food,” Lucas replied, “I ate from the can. No spoon.”

 

“No spoon?” she asked.

 

“You had to earn the right to a spoon,” Lucas shook his head. “I never did.”

 

Claudette cleared her throat, “Did he ever give you _anything_?”

 

“No,” Lucas replied.

 

“So, what did you do all day?” she asked carefully.

 

“There was no sunlight, so I didn’t know if it was day or night.”

 

“How did you keep track then?” Claudette asked.

 

Lucas shrugged, “I didn’t.” He took another bite, chewing faster this time. “Time was just, when wasn’t there and when he was.”

 

“And when he was there?” she asked.

 

“He was taking care of me.”

 

She let Lucas finish his sandwich in silence and when he yawned, she offered him a private room with a warm bed to sleep in. He thought about declining the offer, but he could feel it in his body - really, he wanted to lie down.

 

Inside the room, Lucas exchanged the scrubs for the sweatshirt and crawled into bed. When his head hit the pillow, Lucas briefly wondered how long it would take him to fall asleep. And then he did.

 

 

 

Claudette woke him later, or maybe he just woke up on his own. But she was sitting in a chair beside the bed. Lucas sat up, leaning against the wall, his feet propped up in front of him so that his knees put some space between him and her. It was instinctual, using his knobby knees to protect himself.

 

“How did you sleep?” she asked.

 

“Fine,” he told her, his voice thick from sleep. He breathed in deeply, blinking a few times to readjust to the light in the room. There was one window, but it was opaque and didn’t allow him to see the outside. Outside, it had gotten darker, almost dusk.

 

“Lucas,” she told him, “There’s someone here who would like to see you. Since you’re eighteen, we can’t legally forbid it. Between you and me, I think it would be good for you to see a familiar face.”

 

“Is it my parents?” he asked.

 

“No,” she shook her head. “Do you remember your friend, Eliott? Eliott Demaury?”

 

Lucas’ heart started racing. Eliott knew he’d escaped.  Eliott came to see him. Lucas licked his lips, “Does he know what happened to me?” He hoped he didn’t.

 

“Only what the press knows,” she assured him. Lucas didn’t know what the press knew.

 

“I want to see him. I want to see him please. I promise, I promise I won’t be bad again.”

 

She shook her head, “Don’t worry, dear. You aren’t bad.”

 

“Can we go see him. Please, can we go?”

 

“Come on,” she gestured to the door, standing up as she spoke.

 

Lucas walked quickly through the hallway, making a wrong turn that Claudette called him out on, “This way,” she led him. They were going back to the room with the floral couch and the rainforest painting. Eliott was waiting for him on the other side of the door.

 

Detectives Agnes and Pierre stood outside it, still in their suits. They said something to Claudette about being quick. Pierre opened the door.

 

Lucas almost didn’t recognize him, but only almost. He was so tall now, taller than he ever imagined he could be. But his hair was wild, pointing in every direction, just like when they were kids. But they weren’t kids anymore. Eliott was a man now.

 

And then Eliott was wrapping his arms around him. And he was touching Lucas’ back, his hair, his neck, his face. He felt his lips against his temple and shivered. He was squeezing so tight. He tried to get his attention, “Eliott,” and then Eliott was crying, weeping in Lucas’ arms. He held him tight and breathed in deeply through his nose. They stood there for a while.

 

“Eliott,” Lucas tried again, “Eliott, I can’t breathe.”

 

He felt Eliott’s arms loosening and pulling away from him. Lucas nearly regretted saying anything about it at all. He missed the contact immediately.

 

“Sorry,” Eliott apologized quietly. He wasn’t touching Lucas at all anymore. He lifted his right hand to rub at his eye. His eyes were so red. The veins pronounced and the whites of his eyes replaced with pink. Eliott moved his hand to hold onto his own elbow, his shoulders hunching. He tried to look away from Lucas, but it didn’t last long. Eliott looked like he’d been caught, like he thought he had made a mistake. Lucas didn’t like that look.

 

He shook his head, stepping closer. He hadn’t wanted Eliott to let him go completely. “You know me,” Lucas said. It was more a statement for himself than for Eliott.

 

“Of course I know you,” Eliott replied. His voice had changed some, a little deeper, a little raspier, but that same timber Lucas remembered.

 

“I’m afraid we have more questions we need to ask you in private, Lucas,” Agnes spoke, tearing Lucas out of his train of thought.

 

“What?” Eliott looked over Lucas’ shoulder, “Already?”

 

Lucas felt the same way, but he hoped eventually there would be an end to the questions. He hoped he could go home soon. His life was waiting for him. Eliott standing here in front of him was proof he still had a life outside of the cellar.

 

He put his hand on Eliott’s shoulder, “It’s okay. I can do it.”

 

Eliott looked at him, really looked at him. And Lucas remembered how gross he must have looked, how horrible he must have smelled. He stepped back, embarrassed, “Will you be here later?”

 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Eliott told him. It sounded like a promise. Lucas held up his pinky and watched as Eliott curled his own around Lucas’. He waited for Eliott to kiss their joined fingers, but he never did. 

 

 

Detectives Agnes and Pierre brought Lucas back to the room with the metal table.

 

“Your DNA has come back. You are Lucas Lallemant,” Agnes told him.

 

Lucas nodded. Of all things, he knew this already.

 

She leaned forward in her chair, leaning on her folded arms, looking down into Lucas’ eyes. He couldn’t hold her gaze.

 

“We found some of your things in his room,” she told him, “Some clothes like the ones you were wearing before.”

 

“Those aren’t my things,” Lucas defended.

 

“A strand of your hair on the pillow in his bedroom,” she added.

 

Lucas wanted to cry. He felt like he was in trouble.

 

“You told us you had never been out of the cellar,” Pierre spoke.

 

Lucas flinched and looked up at him, expecting to be met with anger. Instead, his eyes looked pained, like he’d learned things he didn’t like.

 

“Why did you lie to us?” Agnes asked.

 

Lucas shook his head, he sucked in a breath, like the beginning of a sob, “You’re frightening me,” he told her. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I messed up.”

 

“Hey, hey,” Pierre spoke gently, “It’s okay, Lucas. We’re not angry.”

 

“No,” Agnes added, “No, _I’m_ sorry. That’s unprofessional of me,” she paused, “But you did make it seem like you had only been in the cellar, right?”

 

Lucas nodded.

 

“It’s easy to get things mixed up. I do it all the time,” Agnes replied. “Did you ever leave the cellar?”

 

Lucas nodded. His face felt warm, uncomfortably warm.

 

“And did you ever leave the house?” she asked.

 

He did leave the house. Once.

 

Agnes spoke up, “There was a passport photo of you. Was he planning on taking you away?”

 

Lucas shrugged. He didn’t know all of Léon’s plans.

 

“But he did take you out and about?” Agnes suggested, “Maybe when you were good?”

 

Lucas winced, “Just, just once.”

 

Pierre leaned forward a bit, “Will you walk us through what happened?”

 

“Where did you go?” Agnes questioned.

 

“I don’t know,” Lucas shook his head, “There were people everywhere. I don’t know where it was. A mall or something.”

 

“Did you try to communicate your situation to any of these people? _Anyone_?” Agnes questioned. Lucas was not fooled on this. _This_ was questioning. He was being interrogated. And while Pierre may have been doing it all along, he had actually put in efforts to make Lucas feel otherwise. Agnes did not.

 

He looked her in the eye, hoping he could see just how angry she made him. “You’re thinking I should have told someone? Run, right? That it was _my_ fault?”

 

“No one’s thinking that,” Pierre promised him. His promise didn’t mean anything. Lucas wasn’t inclined to believe any promises from either of them anymore.

 

“I was a boy!” Lucas told them. “I was a boy, and I’m,” he felt a muscle in his cheek twitch, “I was afraid of him.”

 

Agnes chewed the inside of her lip. She couldn’t look Lucas in the eye anymore.

 

“Can I go home now?” he asked Pierre instead.

 

“I’m afraid we have a lot more to ask,” Agnes interjected.

 

“No,” Lucas told her, “I’m eighteen. I’m grown up now. You can’t keep me here. You want me to trust you?” he could feel his blood boiling, “You want me to answer all of your questions? You want me to be a good boy for you, isn’t that right?”

 

Agnes sat back, looking deeply uncomfortable. _Good_ , Lucas thought to himself.

 

“I _am_ afraid of you. I’m afraid I’m saying the wrong things. I’m afraid I’ll never go home. You’re keeping me here and asking me these things and confusing me and I feel trapped. You think you’re helping me, but you’re like him – both of you. I want to go home!” he shouted.

 

“We have more questions, Lucas,” Agnes explained.

 

“Why can’t you do that at my house?” Lucas asked.

 

“In here, we can keep an eye on you, make sure you’ve got everything you need,” Pierre told him.

 

“I need my parents. I need my life back,” Lucas’ voice cracked. “I need a bath.”

 

“There is the option of a safe house, for you and your parents,” Agnes offered. “Your captor is still at large, Lucas.”

 

“No,” Lucas shook his head, “No, I want to go home.”

 

“Lucas,” Pierre started, “You have to understand, your safety is the most important thing to us. It truly is.”

 

“I’d be safest at home,” Lucas swore.

 

Pierre sighed, his thumb and his middle finger rubbing the sides of his head. “Preparations would need to be made, security measures.”

 

Finally, _finally_ , Lucas was getting somewhere. “But I could go home?” Lucas clarified.

 

“Yes,” Pierre replied, “Yes you could.”

 

Lucas’ eyes watered. “He was going home.”

 

“We’ll finish a few questions here and then we’ll get you sorted to go home, okay?” Pierre told him.

 

He brushed away the wetness on his cheeks, a small smile formed on his lips and he couldn’t hide it, “ _Merci_.”

 

“The day you were taken,” Agnes continued, “You were meant to be at school, but you weren’t. Why was that?”

 

“I was going to meet my friend,” he answered.

 

“Your friend?”

 

“Eliott,” Lucas answered, “My friend Eliott.”

 

 

 

 

 

Lucas’ father was waiting for him outside the door with Eliott and Eliott’s mother. “Can Eliott come home with us, Papa?” Lucas asked right away.

 

“Not tonight, Lucas,” he replied.

 

“I’ll come over in the morning,” Eliott told him.

 

Lucas didn’t want him to go, but he understood. He grabbed Eliott’s jacket and tugged him forward until Eliott was hugging him once again. “I’m so happy you’re safe,” Eliott whispered in his ear.

 

“Alright,” Pierre interrupted, “We’ll give you a police escort home.”

 

 

 

It was completely dark outside by the time Lucas finally got home. People with cameras and microphones had gathered round the house and shouted his name when he got out of the car. They wanted to ask him questions. Pierre and Agnes rushed him through the front door.

 

His mother was waiting inside, a sweater pulled tight around her body. Initially, Lucas was afraid to go near her, worried she wouldn’t recognize him still, worried she would push him away like he saw her do earlier.

 

“Baby,” she held her hands up, one landing softly against his cheek, “my young man,” she smiled, her eyes wet with tears.

 

“Mama,” Lucas was relieved, he launched himself into her arms and held her tightly as she pet his hair.

 

“I’m so sorry, baby,” she apologized, “I thought you were gone, but the Lord brought you back to me.”

 

“I missed you,” Lucas cried.

 

“Alright, Marie,” his father spoke up, “Let’s let him shower huh?”

 

“We’ll be back tomorrow to talk some more, okay Lucas?” Agnes asked.

 

“I’ll show you to the guest room,” his father told Claudette. She would be staying with them until there was an update on Léon’s whereabouts.

 

Both Agnes and Pierre left. Lucas looked out the behind the window curtain beside the door and found two police cars stationed out front. He saw the flash of a camera and immediately shut the curtain.

 

“Okay,” his father returned, making Lucas jump a bit, “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

 

“What?” Lucas asked, he was confused. “Where are you going?”

 

His father couldn’t look him in the eye as he told him, “I don’t live here anymore, son. I have a family at home that needs me right now.”

 

“Lucas needs you right now,” his mother spoke up.

 

“Marie, we discussed this,” his father replied sternly.

 

“You don’t live here?” Lucas asked, his head began to hurt.

 

 

 

Lucas’ parents had divorced. His father remarried. He had a three-year-old daughter. He didn’t belong to Lucas anymore.

 

Lucas excused himself to shower upstairs. He ran the water hot, too hot. He stood beneath the spray, letting it scald his skin, turning it an angry red.

 

 His tears felt cold on his cheeks.

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Jigsaw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliott POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I missed last week. Couldn't get it together and I don't want to post something I'm not at least somewhat happy with.

 

 

 

 

It was nearly 22:00 by the time Eliott got home. The press had been all over the station. He had to be snuck out in a black car with heavily tinted windows. His mother, too. They took a long route home, throwing off the cars following them once the people inside realized their car wasn’t the one moving Lucas.

 

In the span of six hours, he felt as though he had suddenly aged ten years. He felt old and he was tired and he was still adjusting to this new reality – that a piece of his life which had been gone for years was suddenly returned to him, but the Jigsaw piece had been cut differently now, didn’t quite fit where it did before. Oh, and the piece was huge now, not simply a childhood memory, but his whole childhood wrapped up in one person.

 

When Eliott lost Lucas, he lost everything – his best friend, his childhood, his sanity, his innocence. He wasn’t naïve. He was thirteen at the time. He had understood what they were saying on the news. He had picked up what the ladies in the supermarket had said – that Lucas was “dead or _worse_. Poor thing.” He had plenty of time to think of things worse than death. His therapist, for all her strengths and kindness, had never once suggested to Eliott that Lucas was still out there. She never explicitly stated he was dead either. But “letting go” of Lucas was an exercise in moving on, on accepting the inevitable, on saying goodbye (something Eliott never actually got to do).

 

So yes, Eliott felt old, but he also felt young. Like he was thirteen again, like his life was on rewind and he was sent back to September 13, 2014. If that were true, he would never have told Lucas about the arcade, or if he did, he would have been there that morning at their corner. Lucas wouldn’t have been alone, and Eliott could have done something to keep him from being taken, even if it was just the fact of him being there.

 

Truthfully, Eliott had never made peace with losing Lucas, but he had at least found a way to keep living his life, to keep putting together the puzzle pieces of who he was while trying not to dwell on what seemed to be a fact, that he would never be complete again without Lucas. He couldn’t figure out how that piece fit now.

 

And, almost as if on queue, another piece was calling. He sat down on his bed and lied back, answering the phone quickly and holding it up to his ear. He closed his eyes and sighed, “Hello?”

 

“Eliott, hey, are you alright?” It was Lucille. Eliott was sure he sounded irritated. He was, but not at her, and certainly not about anything she had done.

 

“Hi,” Eliott told her quietly, not answering her question.

 

“Hi,” she replied, in turn.

 

When Eliott didn’t say anything, she spoke up again, “So, I’m out of my study group. Did you still want to meet for that late night bite we talked about? If not, it’s okay, really. You don’t, uh, you don’t sound great, Eliott.”

 

Shit.

 

“Shit, I’m so sorry, Lucille. I,” he signed and squeezed his hair in his hand, _I never told you about how my best friend from childhood was kidnapped, but he turned up again today and I got distracted._ He couldn’t say all that to her, could he? It wasn’t that simple. It wasn’t, right?

 

“You don’t have to explain, Eliott. I’m just trying to figure out if I should get some food without you now.”

 

Okay, now she sounded irritated. He winced.

 

“I’m sorry. I had – Lucille, I had a really crazy day. I had to leave work early and then I was at the police station all night and I just got home – “

 

“What were you doing at the police station? Did something happen? Are you safe?”

 

He could tell what she was getting at. _Did you have a manic episode?_ was one of the questions she hadn’t asked but was asking.

 

“I’m fine, I promise,” he told her. “I wasn’t there for me.”

 

“Well who were you there for?” she asked, “Did you have to bail someone out or something?” she was almost laughing. It was true, the thought was laughable. The situation at hand was not and the uncomfortable sound Eliott made in his throat was enough for Lucille to understand that.

 

“Um, what if I pick up a pizza and come over? Do you want to talk?” After a brief pause, she quickly added, “Or we could not talk. We could just sit on the floor and eat pizza,” she offered.

 

Eliott was hungry. And he _did_ want to talk about what happened today, he wasn’t sure how he could. He didn’t know the right words. He was still trying to make sense of it in his head. All he knew was that Lucas was back and there was this wonderful lightness in his life again, but everything this was still so heavy and still up in the air. There was a lot to work through before they could pick back up where they left off, and even after working through everything, they would probably never get exactly where they left off.  

 

And even then, maybe when this all calmed down, when the press backed off and they caught the guy who did this, maybe eventually Lucas would have enough time to remember exactly whose fault this was. Maybe he would come to his senses and come to hate Eliott as he had every right to do.

 

“Yeah, okay,” Eliott accepted.

 

Lucille was true to her word. When she showed up, pizza box in hand, and Eliott didn’t immediately start talking beyond “Hey”, she just sat on the floor of his bedroom and opened up the box. She picked up a pizza and carefully lifted the end into her mouth, taking the first bite from the cheesy slice. 

 

“Man, this is so good,” she commented. “I swear, all through study group, I could barely think about anything other than food.”

 

Eliott sat on the floor across from her and picked up a piece from the box. “Were you able to get a lot done, though?” he asked.

 

She shrugged, “Kind of. I don’t feel much more prepared, but we did get some first draft writing done. It’s shit, but it’s written. I’ll edit some of it tomorrow.”

 

Eliott nodded, chewing the pizza slowly. He was worried if he ate too quickly it might upset his stomach. He was already feeling sick. He set the piece down on a grease stain in the open lid as Lucille grabbed a second.

 

“So,” she started, “Have you seen that new trailer for _La Petite Sirène_? I’m still trying to figure out how they make those underwater scenes look so believable.

 

Eliott brought his thighs up to his chest and rested his chin between the knobby bones of his knees. “They use fill flash to fix the lighting so everything isn’t washed out blue. It like overexposes the background and then the flash makes the close-up stuff brighter and truer to color.”  

 

“Oh,” Lucille commented.

 

Eliott noticed the small bit of pizza sauce on her chin. He pointed, “You’ve got sauce on your chin.”

 

“Thanks,” she replied, wiping it off with her thumb. She wadded up a napkin in her hand and continued to eat. Eliott just watched. “You’re not hungry?” she asked with her mouth full still, yet somehow it was graceful.

 

Eliott shook his head. He couldn’t really think about food right now. All he could think about was Lucas and Lucas at home and Lucas with his long hair and Lucas with his deep blue eyes. _Lucas_. He cleared his throat, “Did you see that thing on the news, about the boy that was found?”

 

“Oh my God,” her eyes doubled in size, “Were you the one who found him? Is that why you were at the police station?”

 

“What?” Eliott shook his head, “No, I didn’t find him.”

 

“They said he’s been missing for like six years, right?” She took another bite, “Kidnapped by some pedophile.”

 

Eliott felt his eyes stinging. He was almost certain Lucas was trapped with a pedophile for six years. It killed him to know the guy was still out there.

 

“Eliott?” Lucille could see his shiny eyes, “Eliott, are you okay?”

 

He rubbed at his eyes with the bony part of his thumb, trying to avoid the grease, “It’s my fault.”

 

“What’s your fault?”

 

“If I,” he whimpered, “I told him we should skip school and go to the arcade and then, then I wasn’t there and he was gone,” Eliott admitted. “It’s my fault.”

 

Lucille moved the pizza box out of the way as she moved over to him. Eliott felt her press her body against his back, wrap her arms around his middle, and hook her chin on his shoulder. She pressed her hand against his heart and he held it while leaning his head against hers, trying to compose himself.

 

When his breathing returned to a steady pace, she spoke again, still hold him close, “You knew him.” She was asking, but she phrased it like a sentence.

 

Eliott nodded.

 

“He was important to you.”

 

He nodded again.

 

“You feel responsible for his kidnapping.”

 

“Yes,” Eliott breathed.

 

“Come on,” she pulled him up from the floor and guided him to his bed, “Lie down.”

 

They lied facing each other, Lucille’s hand in his hair, “Okay, what are you feeling right now, in your body?” she asked.

 

“Tense,” Eliott answered.

 

“Where’s the tension?”

 

“Everywhere.”

 

Lucille was good at this, the calming-down-Eliott part. He had always worried she would grow tired of taking care of him in his post-episode states, but so far, she hadn’t had to. He thought her knowing it might happen one day prepared her for this.

 

She was really patient, but Eliott could feel her concern. He couldn’t figure out where all of that concern had been placed, though.

 

She didn’t ask too many more questions. Most of the information Eliott provided was voluntarily offered. Still, Eliott didn’t share everything. But when he could feel himself fighting sleep and told her she should go home, she did. She had to go into the office for her internship in the morning anyway.

 

Eliott got a few hours of sleep before he woke up around 3 in the morning, He had been dreaming about going over to Lucas’ in the morning and the dream turned sour. He watched as Lucas’ face changed into something angry and woke himself up from how terrible it had felt.

 

He couldn’t get back to sleep, so he opened his computer, plugged in his headphones, and worked on a new project until the sun came up.

 

 

Eliott knocked hesitantly on the door of Lucas’ house. His mother had offered to come with him twice, but each time Eliott refused. He wasn’t so nervous to see Lucas again, but nearly terrified to see Lucas’ mother.

 

He had detoured and stopped by the store to pick a bouquet of flowers. The press had gone but two police cars were parked outside. He had to present ID just too make it up to the front door. Thankfully, a detective from the day before, the blond guy, had recognized him.

 

He waited for the door to open, the flowers clenched tightly in his hands. The paper wrap holding them together was light pink and a bit scratchy. It made a sound with even the slightest movement his hand made.

 

She opened the door, a blue sweater hugging her shoulders, and looked blankly at Eliott.

 

“Mrs. Lallemant?” Eliott spoke. He saw recognition on her face, but it didn’t look cruel, thankfully. “It’s been a long time.”

 

She still didn’t offer him passage through the door. “Lucas told you I was coming, right?”

 

She looked about to speak before Lucas appeared at the foot of the stairs behind her, wearing a soft white T-shirt and some jeans that looked a bit too big for him, bunching up by his feet. “Eliott,” he smiled. Warmth flooded Eliott’s whole body. Lucas was smiling at him.

 

“Come upstairs,” Lucas told him, starting to head back up.

  
His mother shook her head, “Oh I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

 

Lucas stepped back down the stairs, coming towards them. He smiled at her kindly, “It’s okay, Mama. I’m eighteen,” he explained. There was something humorous about the way Lucas said it. Eliott felt himself smiling wider.

 

“Uh, these are for you,” Eliott gave her the flowers.

 

Lucas reached in and plucked one of the purple pansies, “I like this one,” he decided.

 

Lucas grabbed Eliott’s hand and led him upstairs, as if Eliott didn’t know the way. Inside Lucas’ bedroom, which looked the same as Eliott had remembered, except cleaner, Lucas sat on the bed and patted the duvet next to him, gesturing for Eliott to sit. He set the flower gently on the pillows.

 

Eliott sat carefully, not too close to his friend. He fidgeted with his fingers in his lap, staring down at Lucas’ socked feet.

 

“You look,” Lucas spoked, gaining Eliott’s eye contact, “You’re bigger.”

 

Eliott laughed under his breath. He still was much taller.

 

“How are you?” Eliott asked. He winced, “Sorry, that’s a stupid question.”

 

“I’m bored of talking about me. I want to know how you are,” Lucas replied.

 

Eliott cleared his throat.

 

Lucas couldn’t wait for him to speak, “How’s Yann? Did Noel manage not to get kicked out of school?”

 

Jesus, Noel. He hadn’t thought of Noel in years. He was a year between Lucas and Eliott. Eliott hadn’t really known him that well, but he had been friends with Lucas. “His family moved to America before lycée. I’m not sure what he’s doing now.”

 

Lucas’ mother knocked at the door, walking straight in, “Can I bring you up some drinks?” she offered. Eliott thought they’d been sitting there for thirty seconds, maybe.

 

“We’re fine, thanks, Mama,” Lucas replied immediately. He got up and closed the door behind her as she turned. He sighed, his hands splayed on the door. When he turned around, Lucas looked nervous, “How’s your mum? And Papa?”

 

“Uh, they’re fine, they’re good,” Eliott nodded.

 

“That’s good,” Lucas replied. He came back to sit next to Eliott, this time closer, “I liked them. Did they like me?” He was definitely nervous. “I know I could be, you know, I was over there all the time.”

 

“They liked, or uh, they _like_ you,” Eliott assured him. “I still live with them. They send their love.” Eliott bit the inside of his cheek. It felt strange to say the word _love_ to Lucas. “Uh, Mama tried to come with me today, but I told her not to.”

 

“Why?” Lucas asked bluntly, his eyebrows scrunching together.

 

Eliott shrugged, “I don’t know. I just, I wanted to spend time with just you.”

 

Lucas’ face did something funny and Eliott couldn’t quite tell how he was feeling. “So what’s changed?” Lucas asked. “Much? Nothing? Anything?”

 

“Can I go for somewhere in between?” Eliott answered.

 

Another knock at the door.

 

“Mama!” Lucas yelled. It surprised Eliott. He hadn’t heard his voice so loud quite yet and this sounded different, deeper. Now he finally sounded eighteen and not eleven.

 

His mother walked in with the blond detective, Pierre was his name, behind her. “Uh, Lucas,” Pierre spoke, “We’ve got to resume our interview.”

 

“I’ve got my friend here,” Lucas spoke shortly, his hand clutched Eliott’s forearm, making him shiver.

 

“So I see, but it’s important,” the detective replied.

 

“Sure,” Eliott began to stand, “No worries.”

 

But Lucas piped up, “I’ll be down when I’m ready.”

 

Pierre silently agreed, him and Lucas’ mother leaving.

 

“Maybe I should go,” Eliott offered.

 

“No! Not yet. Please,” Lucas looked him in the eye. “Please not yet.”

 

Eliott wasn’t sure how to respond.

 

“Do you still roller skate?” Lucas asked. “I could watch you for hours,” he nodded. Eliott remembered how Lucas would run to catch up with Eliott on his skates, how Eliott would skate circles around him, how Lucas had tried to learn but couldn’t quite get the hang of it.

 

Eliott laughed, “Well, I’m practically an old man now,” he told him, “My knees aren’t so great as they used to be. I’m not sure I’d be that good anymore.”

 

“I wouldn’t say old,” Lucas told him. “Older, maybe, but,” he sucked in a breath, “Everyone is.”

 

Eliott felt terribly sad. He wished he could reverse time, “I’m so,” his voice cracked, “I’ve missed you so much, Lucas.” He let his hand touch Lucas’, his finger curling around his.

 

Lucas pulled his hand away. He stood quickly, “Back in a minute.” 

 

The door shut behind Lucas so quickly and hard that a piece of paper floated down off the wall. Eliott picked up the paper carefully, recognizing the drawing he’d made years ago of Smokey the Bear with a joint in his mouth and weed socks on. In the light coming through the window, he could see there was something else drawn on the back of the paper. He flipped it over, his eyes scanning the page. A little heart with an L and an E inside had been added. Eliott traced it with his finger.

 

He didn’t know how long he looked at it, but then he heard the commotion in the hallway. He followed the noise. Detective Pierre was kicking the bathroom door down. The door flew off its hinges and, inside, the bathroom window was wide open. He watched as Mrs. Lallemant leaned her upper body out the window, screaming, “Lucas!?”

 

“I’ll find him. I’ll bring him back,” Eliott told Pierre, and then he was descending the stairs and bursting through the front door.

 

He knew exactly where to look.

 

 


	6. Another

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LUCAS POV

 

 

He was trying. He was really trying. But everything was so different now. Everyone was different now. His father wasn’t his anymore. He belonged to another family. His mother was more unstable than himself, recognizing him one moment and forgetting him the next.

 

And Eliott. Eliott wasn’t so fearless anymore. Lucas had spent six years underground, but he still knew fear when he saw it. Lucas wanted to ask him what he was so scared of. He wanted to ask Eliott to be brave, to be brave for him, and just be Eliott. He wanted Eliott to look at him like everything was normal, to talk to him like he was normal. When Eliott grabbed his hand, it’s like he was comforting a hurt animal. Not like he was holding his hand because he wanted to. Maybe Eliott was scared of him.

 

It was suffocating now, being with his loved ones. He had been so used to spending hours on end with just him and his thoughts. Now, though he’d left that small basement room behind, there wasn’t enough room anywhere to him to think or to breathe. So, he jimmied the window open, scaled down the stone of the building and ran. He ran for the one place he thought he could be alone.

 

He should have known Eliott would find him. It was _his_ place after all. While it technically never belonged to either of them, it had always felt like Eliott’s.

 

After what felt like only a couple minutes, but was probably several, Eliott’s panting frame slid the ground next to him. “Jesus, Lucas, you’re freezing.”

 

Lucas didn’t know he was shivering until Eliott wrapped his jacket around him. The sweat that had drenched his hair as he ran and turned cold on his neck. He clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering.

 

“Are you okay?” Eliott asked carefully, tugging the jacket tighter around him.

 

Lucas nodded minutely. He shifted his feet and internally cursed himself.

 

“My God, your feet are probably freezing,” Eliott nearly shouted.

 

“Sorry,” Lucas mumbled.

 

Eliott shook his head, but dipped it down to look up into Lucas’ eyes, “Just remember to put on shoes next time you feel like going for a run,” he joked.

 

Lucas was caught off guard by how easily Eliott could joke with him. This was one of those few moments since Lucas returned to the land of the living that Eliott seemed exactly the same.

 

“May I?” Eliott asked, gesturing for his socked feet.

 

Lucas was confused, but nonetheless, he lifted his left foot and moved it closer to Eliott.

Eliott rubbed his hands together so quickly Lucas was sure flame would burst from his palm. And then his foot was engulfed in two big, warm hands. Lucas’s eyes fluttered and when Eliott applied the slightest more pressure to the sole of his foot, a soft sound escaped from his throat. At first he thought Eliott didn’t notice, but when he reached for his other foot, Lucas could see the warmth of his cheeks even in the dim light beneath the bridge.

 

“Are you ready to go home?” Eliott asked.

 

“That’s home anymore,” Lucas said, but he knew well enough he would have to go back anyway.

 

“Your parents are really worried about you, Lucas,” Eliott replied.

 

Lucas nodded, starting to stand up. Eliott helped up and reached into the jacket pocket. He pulled out his phone, explaining, “You can’t walk home without shoes.”

 

It was Agnes who picked them up. She didn’t look happy and she didn’t sound it when she said, “I’m glad Eliott could find you so quickly.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Lucas told her from the backseat.

 

“You know Léon has still not been found, right?” Agnes returned. “We don’t know where he is or how much he knows. He could be following you right now for all we know, and you just run away like that? Do you have any idea how stupid that was?”

 

Lucas leaned against the window, pulling Eliott’s jacket tighter around his frame. “You don’t understand,” he mumbled.

 

Before Agnes could say anything more, Eliott piped up, “He said he was sorry,” and that was the end of the conversation.

 

Back at his mother’s house, he saw Pierre get out of the black car parked out front. “I’m glad you’re safe,” he told him as he opened the car door for him.

 

“Is mama upset?” Lucas asked.

 

Pierre seemed to bite his tongue before he replied, “I’m sure she’ll be glad to see you.”

 

On the front step, Lucas could hear the shouting. He looked back at Eliott who gave him a small, sad smile.

 

“Shut up! SHUT UP!” his mother yelled from beyond the door.

 

Agnes quickly opened the door and shuttled Lucas inside.

 

“Lucas,” his mother spoke softly at the same time his father demanded, “Where have you been?”

 

“We’re glad you’re home safe,” Claudette interrupted.

 

A moment of silence passed before Eliott spoke up, “La Petite Ceinture. We used to play games out there when we were kids.”

 

“Why would you risk going outside?” his father asked.

 

Lucas wanted to scream. Of course, he wanted to be outside. He hadn’t _been_ outside in six years. He turned for the stairs instead, his mother calling after him. He didn’t know what she said, something about “tired” and “soup.” He called over his shoulder, “Goodbye, Eliott.”

 

In his room, a warm bed was waiting.

 

 

Later that evening, after a very long nap, Lucas was forced to eat and then sat in front of a video camera in his mother’s living room. Agnes and Pierre sat across from him. Pierre looked tired and Agnes seemed less agitated. Lucas still didn’t like her.

 

“Thank you for agreeing to continue this interview,” she told him.

 

Lucas didn’t really agree, but he didn’t fight it either. He just wanted it all to be over.

 

“Right, well, Lucas. Detail is what’s missing from your account so far,” she explained. “We want to work back from the months after you were first snatched to the end of year one. Is that okay with you?”

 

Lucas didn’t really respond. He fidgeted with the inseam of his jeans. Agnes looked over to Pierre. He cleared his throat, “For us to help you, we’re going to need you to communicate as much as possible, Lucas.”

 

Lucas’ mother walked through the doorway, “Can I get anyone tea? Coffee?”

 

Pierre shook his head and Agnes sighed, “I’ll give you a hand Madame Lallemant.”

 

When they were no longer in earshot, Pierre pressed a button on the camera and Lucas watched the red light disappear. “You’re not in trouble for running off, if that’s what you think,” Pierre said. “It’s just you worried a lot of people. Your kidnapper, he could be anywhere, Lucas.”

 

“Okay, Detective,” Lucas replied.

 

“Pierre. Pierre is my name.” He rubbed at the scruff coming in on his face. “Look, I know it must be hard, to trust anyone,” he started explaining.

 

“I trust you,” Lucas told him, though he wasn’t quite sure if he did. He pulled the hair off his face and tucked it behind his ears.

 

Pierre cleared his throat again. “Good. I, uh, I’m not the best with this sort of thing, usually, but I know, uh, you’ve been through a lot – more than any boy should have to. But you need to give yourself a chance to start living again. Everything might have felt like it was on pause, for a while, but now it’s not.”

 

“No,” Lucas agreed, “It’s not. You’re right.” He felt his throat close up.

 

Pierre pulled a card from his wallet. “If you ever need to talk, Lucas,” he handed his card over.

 

Agnes walked back in with tea and Pierre pressed a button on the camera. The red light returned. Lucas squirmed for another hour.

 

 

 

 

When they were finished, Lucas had to talk to Claudette. He always had to talk. She asked him if he would be open to seeing a therapist. “It’s not as scary as it sounds,” she pitched it, “All you do is talk.”

 

Lucas lied through his teeth and said he would think about it.

 

Upstairs, he found a notebook and picked up a pen. He would call Eliott later and they would talk, but he wanted to figure out what to say first.

 

With the pen cap in the corner of his mouth and the blank page laid out in front of him, Lucas began to write.

 

_Eliott. Hi, it’s Lucas. We used to talk on the phone after school when we were ~~little~~ kids. I got in trouble a lot and my ~~phone~~ cell phone was taken away, but you would call the house phone and that was okay ~~with my mama and papa.~~_

_I know six years is a long time. I’m really sorry about that. Yesterday, when I saw you, I thought maybe six years was too long. You look different than how I imagined, but I still knew it was you. And that made me ~~happy~~ very happy. _

_I know things are different now. I couldn’t expect anyone to wait for me, ~~but you did~~  but I think you did. I don’t want to keep waiting. I want us to be like us again. _

_Everything else has changed. But you and me don’t have to, right?_

Lucas read it a few times and when he was okay with what he had written, he hid the notebook underneath his pillow.

 

He took a shower before dinner. When he was finished washing his hair, he let himself sit on the bottom of the tub. There was a padlock on the window now. He grimaced and distracted himself by watching as the water poured from the spigot funneling straight into the drain.

 

A knock at the door some minutes later alerted him and he painfully hit his elbow on the edge of the tub. “Dinner will be ready soon,” his mom told him from the other side of the door. When he didn’t reply, she knocked again, “Lucas?”

 

“Okay,” Lucas quickly told her. “I’ll be done soon.”

 

Downstairs, his father was sat at the table, scrolling through what looked to be a very long text message on his phone. His mother set down a casserole in the center of the table. “Oh, good,” she smiled warmly, “just in time.”

 

Lucas sat at the empty chair and watched as his mother poured him a glass of water from the pitcher. His father scooped a chunk of casserole from the corner of the dish and plopped it on his plate.

 

“I made your favorite,” his mother told Lucas.

 

He didn’t recognize the dish, but that didn’t stop his father from shoving a large spoonful in the middle of his plate and telling him to eat up, that he was looking quite thin.

 

His parents watched as Lucas picked up the fork and knife carefully. He cut a small piece apart from the center mass and lifted it to his mouth. There was so much lime that it caught in his throat and he coughed liberally, trying to settle it. “Sorry,” he mumbled to his mom.

 

“It’s okay, honey. Have some water,” she suggested.

 

But then there was a knock at the door and her mood shifted completely, “I told them one nice family dinner. That’s all I wanted.”

 

“I’ll get it,” his father stood up. “Sorry, son,” his father touched his shoulder as he left for the door. Lucas squirmed.

 

“Tell them they can come back tomorrow,” his mother instructed.

 

A beat later, Agnes and Pierre walked through the front door, Lucas’ father in tow.

 

Lucas looked at Pierre but he wouldn’t meet his gaze.

 

“We need Lucas to come in,” Agnes explained.

 

“What?” his mother asked, “What do you mean? You can’t,” but Pierre cut her off.

 

He finally looked Lucas in the eye.

 

“He’s taken another boy.”

 

 


End file.
